Tell It To The Birds (20 page)

"Not just yet ... I have news for you, Meg. In spite of your record, in spite of your lies, they are going to pay the claim.

You'll get the money tomorrow."

Meg stiffened, staring at him. Blood rushed to her face, then receded, leaving her pale with excitement.

"You mean that?" she demanded huskily. "You really mean they are going to pay?"

Anson waved to the telephone.

"Call Jameson. They've even told him. I talked to him before I came out here. He said he would be coming out himself tomorrow as soon as he got the cheque."

Meg drew in a long, slow breath. Watching her Anson's face showed amused cynicism.

"We made a bargain ... remember?" he said, "I was to insure your husband and murder him and you were to share the insurance money and yourself with me. We were going away together and we were going to have a whale of a time spending fifty thousand dollars." His smile became crooked. "But now I've changed my mind. I have known too many whores to trust any of them and that now includes you. So I'll settle for half the money. Tomorrow, you will get a cheque for fifty thousand dollars. I want a cheque right now from you for twenty-five thousand dollars, and we part and I hope I never see you again."

Meg was aware that Hogan was just outside the room, listening to what was being said. His presence gave her the courage to say, "You get nothing! You can't force me to give you anything ... get out!"

"Don't be stupid, Meg," Anson said, his eyes bleak. "I can force you to give me my share ... make no mistake about that.

You will do what I tell you or..."

A slight movement at the door made him jerk round. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of Sailor Hogan who grinned sneeringly at him.

"Hello palsy ... you threaten me, not her. I'm more your size."

As he moved into the room, Meg backed away.

Completely taken by surprise, Anson looked blankly from Hogan to Meg and then to Hogan again. Then his quick mind realized why Hogan was here. He saw suddenly the whole fabric of the plot he had blindly walked into.

"So ... that's how it is. You and she. So you are the boy friend the police think murdered Barlowe," he said softly. "You are the pimp from Los Angeles who they talk about."

Hogan's sneering grin widened.

"Don't get sore about it, palsy," he said, leaning his broad, fighter's shoulders against the wall. "We're all suckers at one time in our lives. The cops thought I had knocked him off, but I convinced them I didn't. I had an alibi. For your sake, I hope you have one too for they are certainly sniffing around."

"I am having half the money," Anson said, his face white, his eyes glittering. "You and your whore can have the other half, but I fixed this; I took all the risks ... so I get a half share."

Hogan laughed, slapping his thigh.

"You don't get a dime, sucker. You killed him. When Meg put up the idea, I knew we had to find a sucker in the insurance racket and so I picked you. I picked on you because I knew you were in trouble and panting for dough. I gave you the treatment, and boy, did that punch in the belly soften you up. It was that simple. All she had to do was to write that letter about insuring her jewellery and then turn the heat on." He looked over at Meg and grinned, "If she knows anything, she knows how to make a sucker out of a guy with hot pants. So you've pulled the nuts out of the fire, but don't kid yourself ... you don't get a dime. There's nothing you can do about it. You start bleating and you'll bleat yourself into the gas chamber. Get it?" Hogan winked. He jerked a thick thumb to the door. "Now, beat it. Me and my girl friend want to be alone."

Anson remained before the fire. His eyes were intent, his mouth a thin line.

"Are you telling me it was your idea to trap me into insuring Barlowe and then murdering him?" he asked.

Hogan laughed.

"Not my idea ... she dreamed it up. You would be surprised how smart she is for a tart. I worked it, but she invented it."

Meg, listening and watching, said sharply, "You're talking too much Jerry ... shut up!"

"Let him know how it is," Hogan said, enjoying himself. "After all, he's made us fifty thousand bucks. He's entitled to know. Well, that's it palsy ... on your way. When we meet again, I'll buy you a cigar."

Still not moving, Anson asked, "How did the police get on to you, Hogan? Why did they ever imagine you killed Barlowe?"

"Because they were smart enough to come out here and fingerprint the bedroom," Hogan said. "They found my prints: maybs they have found yours, but I have a cast iron alibi and I bet you haven't been sucker enough yourself not to have a cast iron alibi."

Anson stood staring at Hogan, cold blood crawling up his spine. "They fingerprinted the bedroom?"

He thought of Jud Jones, and his sneering blackmailing smile.

"They sure did," Hogan said. "Stood me on my ear when Jenson told me."

Anson suddenly felt defeated. He thought of that odd moment when Harmas had produced the glass paperweight. He had been vaguely uneasy about why Harmas had suddenly dropped his probing questions and had produced the paperweight. His heart gave a lurch. He had fallen for one of the oldest police tricks in the world. They now had his fingerprints. They would have found by now plenty of his prints in the dirty, sordid bedroom made during those nights when he had slept with Meg. They now would know that he had been Meg's lover; that, plus Merryweather's evidence, plus the fact he had changed his car tyres could cook him ... anyway, they were enough facts for Maddox to swing into action against him! 

Maddox!

Anson stood for a long moment, his brain racing, his face turning livid.

Harmas had said Maddox had agreed to pay the claim. So what had he done? He had rushed out there to be sure of his share! Maddox would know he would do just that very thing. What a stupid fool he was! He had walked into a trap.

Slowly, he looked around the room. He knew Maddox's methods. He lifted his hands in a gesture of despair.

Puzzled, Hogan and Meg were watching him, shocked by the sudden change that had come over him.

"Look, palsy..." Hogan began, then stopped as Anson motioned him to silence.

The two of them watched him move around the room. He pulled aside the sideboard and looked behind it. He began a slow, systematic search of the room. The whiteness of his face and his despairing expression made both Hogan and Meg remain motionless and silent. Finally, Anson discovered the microphone. It was concealed behind the radiator; its wire lead going out of the window and into the darkness of the garden.

Anson stared at the microphone, furious with himself for falling for such a trick. And I was crazy enough to think I could outwit this devil, Maddox, he thought. Between the three of us, we have now talked ourselves into the gas chamber.

"What the hell's going on?" Hogan demanded, unnerved by the way Anson was acting. "What is it?"

Again Anson motioned him to silence and then he beckoned. Moving cautiously, Hogan approached and Anson pointed to the microphone. He put his hand on Hogan's arm motioning him to say nothing.

Hogan stared at the microphone as if it was a deadly snake. Sweat burst out on his battle scarred face. Meg moved forward. When she saw the microphone, she stifled a scream.

Hogan turned on her viciously and slapped her across the face, sending her reeling back.

"You smart, stupid bitch!" he yelled at her. "Look at that! So you thought you could fix it!"

"Stop it," Anson said. He walked heavily over to the fire and bending down he thrust his hands towards the flames. He felt cold and sick, "Well, it didn't come off," he went on, staring into the fire. "At least, it wasn't a bad try. If this stupid woman had only told me the truth ... if she had admitted she had a record, I'd never have gone ahead with this thing As soon as Maddox know what she was, he set this trap and we've walked into it. He never intended to pay the claim. This was his trick to get me out here and set us all talking. We're on tape! We have talked ourselves into the gas chamber!"

"Not me!" Hogan snarled, wiping his sweating face. "I have an alibi! They can't touch me! To hell with you two! I'm in the clear!"

Meg turned on him; her face white and terrified. "Jerry! I did this for you! You were going to have the money! You agreed! You can't walk out on me now. I love you! We've got to face this together!"

Hogan's face was now a frightened, white mask. "Love? You? Do you imagine I ever wanted anything to do with you, you cheap whore, except what I could get out of you? I was planning to take the money and then I would have ditched you! I have all the women I want without getting snarled up with a dead-beat floosie like you. You and your sucker can go to hell!"

"Keep talking," Anson said in a cold, flat voice. "It's all being recorded. Just keep talking."

Neither Hogan nor Meg bothered to listen to what he said. Meg had run over to Hogan and had caught hold of him. He threw her off.

"Get away from me!" Hogan snarled, and he started for the door.

Anson's hand closed around the butt of Barlowe's gun. He pulled it from his pocket and offered it to Meg.

"Kill him," he said. "He isn't fit to live!"

Hogan whirled round as Meg, gripping the gun, lifted it and pointed it at him. His face went slack with fright as he stared at the gun in Meg's hand.

"No! Don't do it!" he exclaimed, his voice shooting up. "Meg!"

"Your yellow boy friend," Anson said softly and reaching forward, he took the gun from Meg's shaking hand. The sight of the terror on Hogan's face did much to repay that moment in the garage when Hogan had terrified him.

Hogan backed away, sweat running down his face, his breath coming in heavy gasps. As he moved unsteadily into the lobby, the front door bell rang.

Anson said quietly, "Here they are; Jenson, Harmas and the rest of them."

Hogan came back into the sitting-room. He looked wildly around.

"Let them in," Anson said, smiling at him. He was now very quiet and calm. "Then try to talk yourself out of all this.

You won't! Nor will she! You both have said enough to put you in the gas chamber ... go ahead ... let them in!"

As the front door bell rang again, Anson put the barrel of the gun into his mouth, and still smiling at Hogan, pulled the trigger.